Under Your Influence
by Iffy Jr
Summary: Derek/Stiles. "Stiles is drunk. Stiles is very, very drunk. Why does Stiles always have some sort of bottle to get drunk with? Derek never should have let him, Scott, and Isaac come over to 'hang out' before he and Cora left Beacon Hills. It's never just hanging out. Something always happens…" COMPLETE.


**Notes**: This is just some dumb little PW-like-7-pages-of-P (whoops) thing that I threw together in Derek's 3rd person POV. Also I'm pretending that Derek and Cora stay like one extra day before leaving Beacon Hills. So everything has happened and Peter is missing because they don't know that he's gallivanting off being his evil self. Enjoy! :)

**Summary**: Derek/Stiles. "Stiles is drunk. Stiles is very, very drunk. Why does Stiles always have some sort of bottle to get drunk with? Derek never should have let him, Scott, and Isaac come over to 'hang out' before he and Cora left Beacon Hills. It's never just hanging out. Something always happens…" COMPLETE.

**Pairing**: Derek/Stiles  
**Rating**: Mature  
**Additional tags/warnings**: post-canon; strong language; m/m pairing; sexual content (no knotting); top!Derek, bottom!Stiles, drunk Stiles; drunk sex; PWP, PWalittleP

* * *

**Under Your Influence**

Stiles is drunk. Stiles is very, very drunk. Why does Stiles always have some sort of bottle to get drunk with?

"Hey, hey," he says, leaning against Derek's side from where they're sitting on the dead leaves just off of the porch. "What did the—the alien say to the—"

"You told me that joke three minutes ago, Stiles," Derek says, pushing him away.

Stiles laughs, rolling onto his side before onto his back and then to wrap his arms around Derek's waist so that his upper half is behind the wolf. "You know who's really pretty?" he asks.

Derek sighs. How did he get into this mess? It was supposed to be a going away party with the three that he's closest to of his friends—and he knows that they are friends, now, though he still hates them sometimes. He's not really sure why _Stiles_ got into that group, though… Scott and Isaac are at least dependable, but Stiles is usually just annoying and crazy. Like right now… Stiles was mostly sober when Scott and Isaac had to ditch to go pick Allison and Lydia up from some crazy party they didn't think was going to be crazy, and here Stiles is, getting crazier than usual on his own. Seriously, where does he get all of these bottles? His dad is bound to notice his own things going missing _sometimes_.

"Who's pretty?" he asks. He may as well humor the guy. He'd rather have a happy drunk than an angry one.

Stiles giggles—literally giggles—and then he hiccups…and then he vomits, all over the ground behind Derek.

Derek sighs, scooting both of them away from the mess. He's glad they moved outside about fifteen minutes ago or else that would currently be on Derek's floor. Well…his old floor. He can't remember how he, Stiles, Scott, and Isaac all ended up at his old house either; the most secluded place for underage drinking, he supposes.

"Ew," Stiles mutters, scooting a little bit further away. "That is _not_ pretty."

Derek glances at the empty bottle of Jack that the damn teen brought along, wishing it _wasn't_ empty. At least then Derek could hide it and _not_ let Stiles drink it. Now he just grabs his own water bottle and hands it to him. "You shouldn't even know where to get that."

Stiles frowns and takes the bottle. "What's this? Vodka?"

"No, it's water."

"But that's _boring_!"

"You're dehydrated, Stiles. You need it."

"But I don't want it!"

"If you drink half of it _slowly_ I'll let you tell me who's pretty."

The idea works, and Stiles ends up sipping a little bit more than half, slowly so he doesn't just vomit that back up too.

"Can I tell you now?"

Derek nods.

He smiles—one of those stupid, love struck ones he's always giving Lydia. "_You're_ pretty."

Derek blinks at him. "You're drunker than I thought."

"Nuh-uh!" he says, sipping at the water bottle some more. Derek is brilliant. "I've always thought you were pretty!"

Derek rolls his eyes. "I'm not Lydia, Stiles. I'm Derek."

Stiles nods fervently, crawling towards him. "Derek Hale, I know. Lydia is pretty, but I don't _like_ Lydia like I like you. You're different!"

Derek is about to question what any of that means, but Stiles continues before he gets a chance:

"Hey, hey, what's your middle name?" He scoots right up to Derek's face, knees crooked under him and both hands resting against one of Derek's thigh. He honestly doesn't care enough to move it; Stiles is being too annoying to care where the hell he's touching him (within reason). "I can't believe I don't know your middle name after…" He frowns. "How long has it been? Has it even been two years?" He gasps a little. "Oh my gaaaawwd, it hasn't even been two years!" He laughs, loud and crisp and _annoying_. He leans forward, flipping around to flop his back over Derek's legs and smile up at him. "I met you the day before the first day of my sophomore year, and my junior year hasn't even ended. It won't be two years until the day before the first day of my _senior_ year!" He frowns. "But you won't be here for our anniversary." He pouts his bottom lip out. "But Derek, it's our anniversary!" he whines.

Derek huffs, leaning back on his hands, glad they moved far enough away from the vomit that he doesn't have to worry about it. "You are insufferable, Stiles."

He frowns again. "Derek, I'm going to miss you. Aren't you going to miss me, too?"

"Miss the way that you never fail to piss me off in some way? Miss the way that you annoy me and make fun of me and _insist_ on calling me sourwolf?"

He giggles again, thankfully not puking with this one. "But you're _such_ a sourwolf. You're a wolf and you're always scrunching up your face like this." Even Derek can admit that the impression he gives is…spot on. God, does he always look that constipated? How embarrassing. "See? Very sour, and very wolfy. Very sourwolfy."

Derek sighs, looking up at the sky. "If I tell you my middle name, will you promise to forget it?"

He tilts his head a little. "Why would you tell me your middle name?"

Derek gives a little smile, looking back down. "I have no idea."

Stiles grins. "Wanna know _my_ middle name? And my first name, too!"

"I already know your first name, Stiles."

Stiles frowns. "No you don't."

"Yes it is. It's Stiles."

He laughs, that same loud and crisp and annoying one. It's a little less annoying now that Derek has at least heard it once tonight. "My first name isn't Stiles! That's just a nickname that I gave myself because my _real_ first name is _dumb_."

Derek frowns. "Wait, really? Your heart has never jumped when you've told someone your name, though. You couldn't have been lying about it."

"A nickname is still a name, silly!"

Derek huffs. "You're just drunk and trying to trick me."

He laughs again. "Gosh, you're dumber than my name is. Heartbeats still spike when people are drunk, dummy! Come on, come on, don't you want to know what it is? It's really crazy, I promise."

Derek purses his lips. Even if Stiles is lying…well, what the hell? He can find out the truth in the morning. Heartbeats do not, in fact, beat faster when drunk; he's been a werewolf a lot longer than Stiles has been researching about them, so he's pretty sure he knows a hell of a lot better than the teen. "Yeah, whatever, what is it?"

Stiles giggles once before telling him: "My real full name is Sylvester Lee Stilinski."

Derek chokes on his own spit in the short laugh that rips from his lungs. "Your first name is _Sylvester_?"

Stiles laughs too, less annoying than before. "Uh-huh! I was named after my grandpa. _His_ name was Sylvester Maxwell Richards."

"That has a terrible ring to it."

"I know!" He throws his arms up, totally smacking Derek in the face. He gasps before giggling. "Oops." He pulls a hand back up and rests it against his cheek. "Do you want me to kiss it better?"

Derek snorts, pushing his hand away. "You wish."

He grins. "Maybe a little." He continues before Derek can roll his eyes at him. "You didn't tell me _your_ real full name!"

Derek rolls his eyes anyone. "My middle name is Allen."

Stiles howls with laughter, rolling onto his side so that he can wrap his body around Derek's waist, though his face stays at his stomach this time. "You've got the same middle name as Deaton's first name!"

"They're spelt different, though," Derek says. "His is A-L-A-N and mine is A-L-L-E-N."

"I didn't know there _were_ two ways to spell that."

"You can spell 'Stiles' two ways, too. With a 'Y' instead of an 'I', if you want."

Stiles nods, pressing his face deeper into Derek's stomach.

"Stiles, what are you doing?"

He hums, vibrating slightly against Derek's stomach. It tickles a little bit, which brings back memories of the way that his mom used to rub his stomach when he was in his beta form. That was a _long_ time ago, back at six or seven or so. "Sniffing you."

Derek snorts. "Why on earth would you sniff me?"

"Because you smell good!" He pulls away, smiling up at him. "You smell like cinnamon and…" He wrinkles his nose up. "A little bit of dirt, but that's how all you wolves smell."

"And you smell us regularly?"

"It's pretty hard not to when you're all always shoving me around!"

Derek smiles at that, looking back up at the sky. "I don't even remember the last time I ate anything with cinnamon in it."

Stiles hums again, holding Derek tighter. "You know what I really want right now?"

"More alcohol?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Water?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Too bad." He pushes Stiles away a little bit and grabs up what's left of the water, unscrewing the lid and shoving it into Stiles' hand.

He frowns. "But I want to tell you what I really want!"

"Finish that and I'll let you."

Stiles guzzles it, and Derek only lets him because there's hardly any left. "Can I tell you now?"

Derek nods.

He smiles, crawling back forward, and Derek assumes that he's going to wrap his arms around his waist again, but instead he throws his arms around Derek's neck and buries his face in his neck, knocking him onto his back. "You!" he sings.

Derek groans, shoving at him light enough that he won't hurt him. "I'm never letting you get drunk around me again. Get off."

"Nuh-uh."

Derek glares at him. "I'm going to hurt you, Stiles."

Stiles hums, dropping his face down to the crook of Derek's neck. "Maybe I _want_ you to hurt me."

"You don't want me to hurt you the way I'm thinking of."

"Oh?" He pulls away, looking down at him. "Do you want to know what sort of hurt _I'm_ thinking of?"

Derek rolls his eyes, rolling onto his side to force Stiles off of him. "I already _know_ what sort of hurt you're thinking of." He sits back up.

Stiles sits up too, fast and grinning widely. "And?"

Derek snorts. "And it's not going to happen." He stands.

Stiles pouts out his bottom lip, looking up at him. He looks so small down there, but Derek knows that Stiles isn't small. For someone so often ignored, he's almost as tall as Derek, and his shoulders are far too broad for someone so annoying. "But I want it to."

"And I want my family back, but not all of us get what we want." He reaches down and takes both of Stiles' hands, helping him up. "Come on, I'll take you home."

He protests, but Derek just shoves him into the passenger seat of the Camaro and buckles him up so that he can't get out. That's one nice thing about drunk people. Well, some of them… Laura got drunk once and managed to get out of a whole damn jail cell _without_ using any of her werewolf strength. She was crazy. Derek loved her to death.

The drive isn't even quiet before it starts thanks to Stiles both protesting, telling Derek how pretty his eyes eye, and also something about a time that Scott had an allergic reaction to pickles, so Derek just turns the radio on really loud and lets it drown Stiles out almost completely.

As he turns the car off on the street across from Stiles' house, Stiles' voice is instantly heard again, _now_ talking about how much he wants to drag his tongue across D's skin.

He huffs, getting out of the car so that he can pull Stiles out. The sheriff isn't home, so Derek doesn't have to worry about getting Stiles into his bedroom quietly, at least. "You are insufferable," he says, leading him up to his front door. "You don't even like me; why would you want me like _that_?"

Stiles laughs, not questioning how Derek knows where the spare key is hidden. He knows where the spare keys are hidden in every house that all of his friends have. "I do too like you!" he says. "I've liked you for a long time!"

Derek snorts, closing the door behind him. "Yeah, I doubt that."

"Nuh-uh, I'll prove it!"

"Yes, I'm sure you will. Come on, the stairs are this way."

Stiles grumbles unintelligibly to himself as Derek helps him up the stairs. "I have to pee," he mutters.

Derek sighs, moving him to the bathroom. "I'm not zipping your fly down for you."

Stiles grins a little. "Come on, you know you want to."

Derek gives a sarcastic laugh. "No, I don't. Go pee."

Stiles actually whistles to himself as he does, which makes Derek pinch the bridge of his nose. The worst thing is that Stiles is _always_ this embarrassing. Seriously, how is somebody just as annoying when they're drunk as when they're sober? That's got to be a world record of sorts. Stiles could win the Worlds Most Annoying Human Being in a heartbeat.

"Ohhh, I'm washin' my haaaands!" he sings.

Scratch that—most annoying _thing ever_. Actually, the fact that you can drive a car with the emergency break still on is pretty maddening as well…

Stiles struts passed Derek into his room, giving Derek one of those stupid beckoning smiles that people give. "Come on, it'll be fun!" he says from inside where Derek can't see him. "I'm a virgin and everything."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Why on _earth_ would that entice me in any way?" he asks, walking in to lean against the door frame.

"I dunno," Stiles says, yanking his t-shirt off. He had a flannel on earlier, but that must have gotten left inside of the Derek's old house. He'll have to grab it for him tomorrow. "You can, like, Twilight me or something."

Derek raises an eyebrow, hating the way that Stiles suddenly looks so huge by his bed. He hates people with broad shoulders. "Are you asking me to imprint on you?"

He grins, moving towards his closet. "Yeah, that thing."

Derek rolls his eyes. "Imprinting doesn't require sex."

Stiles laughs. "Oh my gaaaawwd, you did _not_ read those!"

Derek glares a little. "No, I didn't, but Cora had a really short Twilight stage and made me watch all of the movies—and don't you _dare_ tell her that I told you that. She'll kill us both."

Stiles gives him an evil look. "I won't tell her if you promise you'll—"

"Never mind," Derek says, turning away. "You can tell her."

Stiles gives a very impressive whimper, and suddenly he's wrapping his arms around Derek's waist. "Pleeeease?"

"I'm not having sex while you while you're under the influence, Stiles."

Stiles slides around his body and grins up at him while wiggling his eyebrows. "What about if I'm under _your_ influence?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "_No_."

"But _Deeereeek_!" he whines. "I _am_ under your influence! You have to sober me up, now!"

Derek rolls his eyes, pushing pulling Stiles' hands off of him. "I said _no_."

But suddenly Stiles is pushing up onto his toes, and against Derek's consent, his lips press up hard and fast against his. And even though he smells like alcohol and Derek _knows_ he puked earlier, Stiles tastes like heaven.

"Right, enough of that," Derek says, reaching up from Stiles' hands to push him away by his shoulders again.

Stiles is grinning from ear to ear. "You liked it, didn't you?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "You're going to _hate_ yourself in the morning, Stiles."

He just grins deeper, leaning against Derek's hands as they're still holding him away. "Do you want another one?"

Derek glares. "No."

Stiles pouts out his bottom lip. "Why not?"

"Because you're drunk."

"I'm not _that_ drunk."

"You sang every verse of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall and then thanked god that Shakespeare and Elvis could get together and write such a masterpiece.

Stiles giggles, still leaning. "You sang the 98th with me."

"Only because you promised it would be your last—and you _lied_ about that, by the way."

Stiles reaches his hands up and holds onto Derek's arms. "Not even _one_ more kiss?" he asks, changing the subject back.

Derek rolls his eyes again. "No—and to make sure you can't ask again, I'm going to leave." He pushes Stiles a little bit, not caring that he stumbles, and makes a break for the stairs.

Stiles groans, following after him slower. When Derek is at his car, Stiles is just getting to the front door.

"Derek!" he cries out, probably quiet for a drunk person but way too loud for a neighborhood in the middle of the night.

Derek leans against his car. "You can't even stand straight, Stiles. One bottle of water isn't going to sober you up."

Stiles glares. "Fine," he snaps. Great, any angry drunk. "See if I care." He slams the door shut.

Derek sighs, looking up at Stiles' window until he sees him go back inside, slamming that door shut as well before collapsing onto his bed. Derek can't see him anymore, but he can hear the way that… He frowns, listening closer. He's moving something in his closet, and…that sounds like running electricity…

A bottle cap clinks against the floor.

"Shit," Derek growls, instantly moving forward to leap up onto the roof beside his window. Stiles has a mini-fridge full of alcohol in his _closet_? No wonder he always has stuff to bring around. "_Stiles_," he growls, shoving open the window (all of the werewolves and their friends leave their bedroom windows unlocked; it's a pack thing). "What are you doing?"

Stiles glares at him as he takes a swig. "Killing my liver off the rest of the way. What are _you_ doing? I thought you said you were leaving."

"I was," Derek says, snatching the bottle away, "Until I realized you were going to drink yourself into a coma."

"I was not!" Stiles protests, jumping up in front of him to try and get the bottle from him.

"Yes you are," Derek says, holding it away.

He reaches. "Nuh-uh!"

Derek tosses the bottle out of the window, letting it roll into the gutter.

Stiles gasps, staring after it. "You…you…"

Derek expects some cussing, but instead the teen is launching forward again, kissing Derek so hard that he's rammed up against the wall beside the window. Derek goes to push him away again, but Stiles is ready for it, instead reaching both of his hands up to twine their fingers together and then lowering their arms back low.

He gives a little hum as Derek growls unintelligibly at him, and then he pulls their mouths away by the barest of millimeters. "I knew you wanted another one."

Derek glares back into his eyes, big and brown and shimmering like the stars he must smoke to always be so loud and annoying. When Stiles kisses Derek next, he gives the tiniest of growls, but Stiles holds firm.

"You're cute when you pretend you don't want something," Stiles says against his lips.

Derek frowns, but Stiles continues before he can comment:

"When you wanted to talk to Scott about werewolves the moment you saw us in the woods, and around Jennifer before you gave in."

Derek narrows his eyes at the mention of that…that _thing_.

"And Isaac described your face when you threw that thing over him, and I knew that you did it on purpose. If you had told him the truth—that you were sending him away to keep him safe—he would have stayed away, but you knew not to tell him."

Derek frowns, differently than before…softer.

"And when you look at me, too. I don't even think you know it, but you're the only one that ever trusts me when I promise something, you know? And you sang and everything, and your voice is like…" He hums. "I think you're an angel, Derek, and do you know what I want to do?"

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Corrupt me?"

Stiles laughs. "I like that too, but no. I was going to ring your bell and give you wings."

Derek rolls his eyes. That _would_ be the line a drunk Stiles gives him.

And then Stiles is kissing him again, and all Derek can think about is what Stiles said about pretending not to want things, and—

Stiles lets go of both Derek's hands at once, reaching up so that one can grip onto the front of his shirt and the other can rest on his cheek. He kisses Derek softer than all of the others, pushing up even more on his toes and tracing Derek's lips with his tongue and _oh god_.

Derek lifts his hand sup to grip onto Stiles' shoulders, ready to—

"No, no," Stiles whispers. "Don't push me away; please don't push me away again, Derek, please don—"

"Shut up," Derek says, pulling Stiles closer at the same time that he starts walking him backwards towards the bed. "Shut up, Stiles, or I swear to god I'll change my mind."

For the first time that Derek has ever known Stiles in all these years, he shuts up, and he just lets himself stumble back onto the bed, yanking Derek with. They crash in a heap of mouths and limbs, shoving at fabric and gripping at skin. Derek doesn't even know how it happens, but

Derek's shirt is off and Stiles is completely naked in the blink of an eye, the chill from the night air wafting lightly in through the open window, but Derek is not about to get up and close it.

"Derek," Stiles groans out, tugging at the front of Derek's jeans. "Derek."

Derek complies, rolling over so that he can kick both of his layers off at once. Before he rolls back, Stiles swings over to straddle him, grinding down against him at the same time that the bends down to kiss him again.

Derek kisses him back hard, reaching his hands around to grip against Stiles' ass and hold him down even harder. Derek manages to look around for a bottle of lube when Stiles pulls away a split second for a breath, and he grabs it up from the nightstand with one hand as Stiles is licking every inch of the inside of his mouth. He slicks three of his fingers before spreading Stiles' cheeks and dragging down a finger, swallowing the gasping moan that Stiles lets out at the chill and the pressure.

"Don't stop there," he whispers, holding Derek's face with both hands as he peppers kisses over his entire face.

Derek doesn't stop there.

When Stiles stats to beg for Derek to take him, he doesn't even hesitate. He rolls them over and throws both of Stiles' legs over his shoulders before pushing in slow, watching Stiles' face at the same time that he bends down to drag his tongue over the vein in Stiles' neck.

Stiles does a lot of begging after that… He begs for faster and harder and shallower; he begs for slower and softer and deeper. And Derek decides he loves it, the way that Stiles begs for things… The way his eyes shut tight and his neck arches back and his hands keeping move between Derek's chest and neck and then the sheets…

When Stiles cries out the loudest, something blissful clicks in Derek's brain, and at the same time that Stiles spills out between them, Derek lets go as well, giving his own cry into Stiles' shoulder.

They don't move for a long while, simply holding onto each other and trying not to breathe so raggedly. When Derek pulls out he drops down beside Stiles, one leg and one arm still draped over him.

Stiles hums in content and turns onto his side to snuggle up against Derek, eyes drifting shut as he instantly falls asleep, which is expected.

And then Derek falls asleep as well, not even under the blankets and with the window still open.

But he doesn't care.

**XxX**

Derek wakes up to bright sunlight streaming into his eyes. E stretches out, pushing his arms up underneath the pillow beneath his head. He opens his eyes slow, trying to blink away the blur. He's on his back and under the covers, and there's a body staring up from where it's draped over his chest.

Derek's eyes instantly clear as they widen, and he looks down at the way that Stiles is looking up at him with the dreamiest look that Derek has ever seen in his life.

"You already missed my panic attack," Stiles whispers nonchalantly (wincing even still from what's probably a massive hangover), one hand up and tracing a light circle on Derek's chest. "I don't remember very much expect that you found my fridge and that I have never come so hard in my entire life."

Derek swallows tightly. "You told me that I pretend I don't want things," he whispers as well.

Stiles flits a wrist. "Right, that too. But _you_, sir, are a very bad role model."

Derek frowns. "What did I do?—_besides_ let you drink underage?"

"Well, underage sex, for one thing. I'm not eighteen yet. But what _really_ puts the icing on the cake is that you just did statutory rape _while_ I was under the influence."

Derek finds himself smiling, reaching one hand up to rest against Stiles' back and the other to hold onto the hand that's drawing on him. "No you weren't. You were under mine."

Stiles grins. "And I always will be."

_**-THE END-**_


End file.
